


Transatlantic

by prettylightsbigcity



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bakery and Coffee Shop, M/M, Meet-Cute, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:48:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26195167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettylightsbigcity/pseuds/prettylightsbigcity
Summary: AU: Everything is the same, but Baz grew up in America and went to magic school there, so he never met Simon. American Mages only heard about the whole Humdrum situation secondhand, so he doesn’t know who Simon is. After school, Baz moves to NYC and starts working in a coffee shop to gain some independence from his wealthy family while he studies literature in college. One day, a tourist named Simon walks into his coffee shop…
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 12
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! This is my first Snowbaz fic- hope you enjoy :) More notes at the end.

BAZ

When my alarm goes off at 4:30am, I am more than irritated: I’m _livid_. I didn’t get home from class last night until after 10:00pm, because I missed my transfer, and then the absurdly unreliable J train just _wasn’t running_. Once I finally got home, I was starving, I needed to feed, and on top of everything else, I had a mammoth paper to finish for my Medieval English Texts class. By the time I’d made and demolished an egg sandwich, caught and drained a few rats in the building’s basement (which was definitely not a sustainable solution, but I hadn’t had time to figure anything else out yet), and wrapped up the conclusion of my essay, it was after 1:00am. 

Briefly, I consider just rolling over and going back to sleep, job be damned. Then, I sigh and unwillingly sit up in bed. It’s a short walk to the kitchen, because this entire apartment is the size of my bedroom back at my parents’ place. The end of my bed is about three feet from the fridge. I didn’t realize “studio apartment” meant “one tiny room with a bathroom the size of a closet, and that’s it” when I first came to view the place, but it’s mine, I don’t have to share it with anyone, and that’s all that matters. Although I do wish it was slightly closer to school; commuting for over an hour each way is starting to get to me. 

I stand in front of the stove, debating whether or not to make coffee or just have some when I get to work. If I make coffee, I won’t have time to shower, but if I don’t make coffee, I might fall asleep on the train… I decide to risk it. Turning sideways to pass through my tiny bathroom door, I turn the shower on as hot as it will go. It’s always fucking frigid in this building. Since I’m on the sixth floor ( _and_ it’s a walk-up, believe it or not), it takes forever for my water to get hot. In the meantime, I go back to my bed and pull out the wide drawer under it where most of my clothes are stored. When I first moved in, I was appalled that there wasn’t enough room to hang up any of my pants in the pint-sized closet, but I’m used to having them folded under the bed now. I even gave up ironing my pants every day before I wear them. My stepmother would be scandalized. 

Once I’ve selected black pants and pulled a deep blue collared shirt from the closet, I go back to the bathroom and hang my clothes on the back of the door. Maybe the steam will work just as well as ironing… but I doubt it. I step into the hot water and exhale gratefully. I need to get a thicker blanket or something, because I was freezing. Regrettably, I don’t have much time, so I wash and condition my hair quickly, inhaling the heady scents. Bath products are the only thing I still allow myself to splurge and spend a lot of money on, because honestly, it turns my stomach to think about what cheap, chemical-ridden brands would do to my hair and skin. I hop out of the shower far too soon, drying off and taking my clothes out to the main room to put them on. There’s barely enough space in the bathroom to turn around, so I don’t usually get dressed in there. 

I go through my mental checklist as I stand in front of the mirror on my closet door and try to arrange my hair so it looks tousled, but tidy. 

_I need my bag, laptop, charger, and textbooks for class, something to read on the train, plus I should probably bring a water bottle, and I need my wallet and phone…_

Glancing at the clock on my nightstand, I pull everything together quickly. If I leave in the next five minutes, I’ll still be on time, even if there are train delays. I am a Pitch, after all. Pitches _hate_ being late. As I’m stepping out of the apartment, I realize-

_Keys!_

I pivot smoothly and catch my front door before it closes, reaching in and grabbing the keys from their little hook beside the intercom panel. Alright. I can still catch the earlier train. 

SIMON

_New York City! I’m in New York, New York, me!_

“Simon, we’ll have plenty of time to look at the skyline when we get off this bloody plane,” my best friend Penelope grumbles.

I guess I am sort of squishing her as I lean over to look outside, but Penny’s the one who insisted on having the window seat. She didn’t want me climbing over her to go to the bathroom “every twenty minutes,” or so she said. I’d never been on a plane before, so all the seats sounded good to me. Being on the aisle was kind of nice too, because I could stretch out my legs a bit. I swear, these plane seats must be made for pixies, they’re so small. Of course, it was all totally worth it, because now we’re in _New York!_ I can’t believe this is happening. Watford seemed like a different planet when I first got there, and it was less than two hundred miles from where I grew up in London. It never even occurred to me that I might get to visit America one day. I didn't think I’d survive past eighth year, much less travel to the Big Apple. 

After the Humdrum was… gone- I close my eyes and swallow hard, trying not to think too hard about that day, and the blood, and my magic- after all of _that_ , I didn’t know what to do. I was suddenly adrift, without a purpose or even a will to find one, and without Penny, I probably wouldn’t have made it. My magic didn’t come back all summer; I couldn’t even feel it. I thought it was gone forever, but Penny refused to give up. In the end, she was right. It started to creep back in so slowly that I didn’t even notice it at first, and then one day, as Penny tried to convince me to get off the couch, I snapped **Bugger off!** at her and pushed her back about four feet. I didn’t even realize I’d done it until she was crying and hugging me so hard I could barely breathe. 

So, now I have magic again, although it’s nothing like it was before. I used to feel like my magic might overwhelm me at any moment, but now it feels more like a buzzing or a crackle just under my skin: always there, but not so dangerous. I’m still shit at spells, but Penny has been practicing with me and I’ve actually got the hang of a few now. The Sword of Mages hasn’t come back to me yet, but to be fair, I haven’t tried to call it more than a couple of times. It’s just nice not to feel like I need it. We haven’t figured out a way to get rid of my wings and the bloody tail yet, but at least I can hide them pretty consistently now. If I’m too tired, sometimes Penny has to spell them away for me, but I can usually manage myself.

After everything that happened, I just couldn’t go back to Watford. Penny’s parents, Mitali and Martin, let me stay with them without a second thought. I’ll never be able to repay them for that. Penny stayed with me for about five weeks, and she rarely left my side. I wasn’t talking a lot at that point. Eventually, she went back to Watford. She didn’t want to go without me, but I told her she had to go. I couldn’t imagine Penelope Bunce not graduating. Even with all the missed time, she was still the valedictorian. Proper thing, if you ask me. Penny’s the smartest person I’ve ever met.

Once Penny went back to school, it felt a little strange to be staying with her parents, so I started looking for a flat for us. That had always been our plan after Watford: a flat of our own in London. I just never thought our plan would happen for real when we made it. Anyway, I was shit at finding a place to live (probably because I’ve never even had a proper home besides Watford), but Mitali took pity on me and helped me look. She even gave us the money to put a deposit on the place; her only condition was that I had to visit a therapist she knew at least once per week. I really didn’t want to, but Mitali has been so kind to me, I didn’t feel right to say no. Turns out, she was right, and once I actually started talking to Dr. Lennox instead of just sitting silently in her office with my arms crossed, I couldn’t believe how much it helped. 

I wouldn’t say I’m the picture of perfect mental health now by any means, but I can hold down a job at the magical beasts rescue center where I work. It’s actually something I really enjoy, and it seems like I’m naturally good with all sorts of different creatures. Maybe they can sense I’m not completely a normal human, and it makes them feel calmer than interacting with a regular, non-winged, and tailless person. Just before our trip, someone brought in a whole litter of baby zewdywoos: a tiny, fuzzy breed of flying mammals that live in people’s rafters and collect bits of fluff. It can be a bit of a fire hazard, so mages tend to be pretty vigilant about clearing out nests. The babies were so small, they fit in the palm of my hand. They’ll probably be almost fully grown by the time we get back; they may even have already been resettled in a remote forest somewhere.

For a moment, I’m a bit sad to be missing their growth, but then I remember that I’m in _New York City!!_ When Penny suggested this trip, at first I thought she was pulling my leg. It was hard enough to believe that she was taking a gap year, much less that she wanted to travel to America with me. But here we are; it’s real, and it’s really happening. Our plan is to stay in New York for a few weeks, try and find an old car we can buy from someone, and then road trip all the way to California. Honestly, I don’t know how we’re going to pull it off, especially given the tight budget we managed to rustle up between us, but I don’t even care. I’m seeing the world with my best friend, and nothing can ruin this for me.

BAZ

I made it to work twenty minutes early, so I have time to make myself a double espresso and drink it in the break room while I enjoy a poppy seed bagel. I never used to understand the hype, but now I know: New York bagels _are_ the best. My cousin Fiona walks in as I’m tying on my apron. Fi is the reason I have this job; she’s been living in the city for four years now, and she’s a manager at Raven Coffee. When I first arrived, she let me sleep on her couch for over a month while I frantically searched for an apartment I could afford. She wouldn’t even let me pay rent; she’s the only one who knows that my parents cut me off. Well, I guess I cut myself off, to some extent. Father and Daphne wanted me to attend Princeton (Father is a Princeton man), although they probably would have accepted Harvard as well. But I wanted to be here, in New York City, and they simply couldn’t understand why. I just needed to be away from Father’s disappointed gaze, somewhere where no one knew me, and I could reinvent myself without feeling like such a burden all the time. It’s bad enough that I’m a vampire and therefore an abomination to mages everywhere (Father never even acknowledges that terrible fact), but I had to go and be _gay_ as well. 

Not fulfilling the family legacy at Princeton was the last nail in my coffin, so to speak (ha ha, vampire jokes and all that). You’d think that Columbia would be satisfactory, but apparently just being an Ivy League school isn’t enough for them. All the Ivies have magical secret societies, so they tend to attract mages from across the country. Nevertheless, my Father made it clear that Columbia was not acceptable for a Pitch. Of course, majoring in English didn’t help.

Anyway, my grades were impeccable, so I was able to win a substantial scholarship, which is good, because I certainly wouldn’t have been eligible for financial aid with my family background. I may not have access to a trust fund any more, but I had some not insignificant personal savings, and if I maintain my grades and keep my scholarship, I should be able to cover tuition and textbooks until I finish my degree. Unfortunately, that still leaves the cost of living, hence the coffee shop job, where I pick up as many shifts as I can with my class schedule. 

_I’m going to be irredeemably exhausted at the end of four years_ , I think, smiling ruefully. 

“What’s with the face, weirdo? You enjoy slinging overpriced milk foam to yuppies at 6 in the morning or something?” Fiona spits, grimacing as she ties back her hair. 

“Absolutely, it’s the highlight of my life,” I deadpan back at her.

“No wonder you’re single,” Fiona jabs back, taking off her many rings to store in her locker during her shift. 

It might sound like a venomous exchange to outsiders, but this is how Fiona and I are together; bonded by our sarcastic sharp wits and shared history of familial rejection. She punches my shoulder harder than is strictly necessary and heads for the door.

“You’re on cash,” she says over her shoulder as she leaves.

“What? Fi, no! I’m supposed to be practicing pulling shots today!”

She doesn’t hear me, or pretends not to. Great. I hate the customer interaction part of this job most of all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh thank you for reading my first chapter! Please leave a comment let me know what you thought if you want; I’m just venturing into this fandom after a long break from fangirl life lol. You can find me on tumblr as prettylightsbigcity - I don’t know anyone yet, so come say hi!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a short one today, but I couldn’t wait to share this scene!

SIMON

“Ok, this is fine, we can manage,” Penny mutters.

She’s been saying some variation of that for the past fifteen minutes as we stand outside the building where we’re supposed to be staying. She refused to put down her huge rucksack, and she’s shifting her weight from foot to foot like she’s about to topple over. That bag is almost as big as she is. I honestly wasn’t sure she’d get away with taking on the plane as carry-on luggage; actually, I suspect she may have done a bit of shrinking magic before we got to the airport. It’s looking suspiciously larger now.

“Come on, Pen, let me take your bag,” I say.

Penny looks like she’s about to argue, so I quickly hold out my own small tote.

“Here, take my duffel! We can switch for a bit; mine’s loads lighter.”

Penny relents, and slides the massive pack off her shoulders. She nearly drops it, but I snag a shoulder strap before it hits the ground. She takes my bag from my other hand and sniffles.

“I’m so sorry, Simon. I had no idea the hostel wouldn’t let us check in until 4:00pm,” Penny says quietly, “I should have checked, I should have—”

“Pen, no way! You planned everything for this trip, you were brilliant, it’s not your fault. Without you we wouldn’t even be here. But  _ look _ !” I say expansively, sweeping my arms open towards the bustling street.

A man passing us on the sidewalk huffs loudly as I almost hit him in the face with my open arm.

“Sorry! Sorry, I—”

He’s already gone, moving down the sidewalk deceptively quickly. I turn back to Penny, shuffling her bag up a little higher on my back. She sighs.

“I probably should have just coughed up the extra pounds for bloody checked luggage, too,” she says gloomily.

“Nah, I think it was brilliant to save a few bucks by taking carry-on bags!” I chirp a little too brightly. 

Penny doesn’t look encouraged.

“Alright, four o’clock is only a few hours from now. Maybe we should just go for a walk in the park? When you found this place, you said it was only a ten minute walk from Central Park, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Penny says, starting to smile just a little. 

“Brilliant. Onward!” I shout, pointing dramatically down the street.

We set off, and then realize when we’ve walked a couple of blocks that the street numbers are going up, which is wrong (I think?) because the park is  _ down _ town from where we are. Penny figured it out; I just keep staring up at all the buildings and almost walking into people. Anyway, we turn around and hoof it back the way we came, all the way down until we hit the park! It’s beautiful, and brilliant, and huge, and— how do we get in? 

Eventually, Penny asks someone, and a surprisingly nice man in a suit tells us we have to walk over to the next avenue to get to a pedestrian entrance.

“He was bloody polite, wasn’t he?” Penny whispers, “I thought Americans were supposed to be rude!”

“Maybe we found him: the nicest man in America!” I whisper back, teasing her.

“He was well fit too— maybe I should go back and ask for his number!” she says, starting to giggle a little hysterically.

I smile and put my arm around Penny, laughing with her. I’m a bit surprised; she hasn’t even looked at a guy romantically since her long term, long-distance boyfriend Micah broke up with her  _ via text  _ right after graduation. Fucking brutal. At first, I was worried that her sudden interest in visiting America had to do with him, but I looked it up on a map, and Chicago is  _ way _ far away from New York. America is bloody enormous. 

We’re about halfway down the block when my stomach rumbles really loudly. Penny looks up at me and pokes me in the ribs.

“Simon, I could  _ feel _ that!”

“Er, yeah. I think I need to get something to eat before we walk around the park,” I say sheepishly. 

We reach the next avenue, and the nice man was correct; there are gates into the park on our right. I turn and look up the street to our left, hoping there will be a convenient chip shop or something where I can grab a bite. I spy a little striped awning; looks like a coffee shop. I pray that they sell sandwiches. 

“Hey, Pen, I want to pop into that little shop over there,” I say, pointing, “ and see if I can get some food.” 

“Alright,” she says agreeably, “I’ll wait here if you don’t mind; I’m knackered.”

Penny sits on a bench by the gates of the park.

“Sure thing,” I say, turning to head towards the shop.

“Oh, Simon?” Penny says, “Will you get me a cappuccino please? I’ll pay you back.”

“Of course,” I say, waving her away. 

I wait for the light (although no one else does; they just dash across the street whenever there’s a break in traffic, the maniacs), and I cross over to the other side of the avenue. As I approach, I can see the name of the shop painted in gold over the awning: Raven Coffee. Through the front window, I can see a glass case with trays of all kinds of food inside— brilliant. I smile and push open the door, tinkling a little bell as I enter. It’s smaller than I thought inside, and I realize that I should have left Penny’s bag with her as I try to weave around the little tables and benches on my way to the counter. 

There are a couple people in line already, which is good, because I need to decide what to order. Standing on tiptoe, I peer over the shoulder of the man ahead of me, trying to get a good look at the display case. Suddenly, a tall, dark-haired guy in an apron steps behind the case and reaches in to get a muffin or something. He looks up and catches my eye for a moment, and I can feel a deep blush creeping up from my chest to my face. He’s  _ beautiful. _ Normally I wouldn’t use that word for a bloke, but my god, I can’t think of any other way to describe him. Even in his apron, he looks elegant and expensive, and a little out of place serving coffee in paper cups. 

The man in front of me steps aside, and I realize it’s my turn to order. Shit. I haven’t even looked at what they have.

“What can I get you?” the beautiful stranger asks. 

His voice is just as breathtaking as he is; I feel like I’ve swallowed my tongue. I attempt to clear my throat.

“Uh— um, yes. Hello! I mean, hi. I would like a sandwich, I think. I mean, if you have sandwiches?”

The man behind the counter raises one graceful eyebrow and gestures to the glass case. I look. There are three platters full of sandwiches. I read the card in front of the closest tray. 

“Chicken pesto with mozzarella sounds great, please?” I say, making it into a question. 

“That’s my favorite,” the guy says quietly, reaching down to grab my sandwich. 

“Would you like it heated?” he asks.

“Uh— yes, yes, please, that’d be lovely,” I stammer. 

Then I spy the scones. They’re huge, hearty-looking, and drizzled with some kind of icing, and I’m going to  _ need  _ one of those. 

“Are— are those cherry scones?” I ask hopefully.

The beautiful barista turns and looks where I’m pointing.

“No, they’re lemon and cranberry,” he tells me.

I must look disappointed, because he quickly adds, “but they’re really good! I mean,  _ I _ think they’re good.” 

“I’ll take one,” I say decisively. 

He smiles a little as he bags up the scone, and I almost choke on my own spit.

_ Smooth, Simon. _

“Will that be everything?” he asks in his silky voice.

“Oh, um, could I get a large mocha as well, please?” I say.

“Sure. Whip?” he asks, looking right into my eyes with his marker poised over a cup.

“Uh, what?”

“Do you want whipped cream? ...On your mocha?” he says slowly.

“Oh! Yes, I mean, yes please. That sounds great,” I splutter.

_ Perfect, now he probably thinks I have brain damage. _

“That will be $22.45,” he says, interrupting my self-deprecating internal monologue.

“Wait— um, is it too late for me to order a cappuccino too?” I ask, and my checks are absolutely burning; I must be red as a tomato.

“Of course, what size?”

“Medium?”

“$26.75,” he says. 

I dig into my pocket and try to separate the correct number of bills. Bloody American money all looks the same. I hand it over.

“You can keep the change,” I say, trying for a winning smile.

“Are you sure? You gave me a 50…” he replies.

“Yep! Yep, totally sure, thanks. Thank you!” I say, stepping out of the way so the next person can order.

Unfortunately, as I move, Penny’s enormous bag knocks someone’s coffee off a table behind me.

Bloody hell, I’m going to be blushing for the rest of the trip at this rate.

  
  


BAZ

He’s absolutely the worst customer I’ve had all day. When he gets to the counter, he has no idea what he wants to order (the  _ worst _ ). Once he finally gets his order out, he knocks over someone’s coffee and I have to replace it and mop up the mess, and he gets in the way by trying to help the whole time. Absolute nightmare. Plus, he ordered a mocha  _ with whip: _ disgusting. If you can’t handle real coffee, just go to Starbucks for fuck’s sake. 

For some reason though, I keep thinking about him. His clear blue eyes and flushed cheeks pop into my mind unbidden as I wipe counters, refill napkin dispensers, and take order after order. Fiona would probably say I just really need to get laid. She’s probably right, but that isn’t really an option for me. I mean, I don’t think it is. It’s just not safe to have my mouth that close to a regular person’s throat. Not that I would ever bite anyone! Strictly animals, exclusively, for my whole life. I just don’t like being reminded of what I am, and I don’t know how I could avoid it in a situation like that. 

I’m still thinking about him (the worst customer) as I grab my bag from my locker at the end of my shift. His face was so open and innocent, and that fucking British accent… Christ. I really want to know what it would feel like to run my hands through his coppery curls and— ok, I really don’t need to think about that, since I’ll probably never see him again. I hang my apron on a hook and lean over the counter as I leave to blow Fiona a kiss. She gives me the finger and laughs.

One of the best things about working at the shop is that it’s a ten minute walk from campus. I’ll have no problem making it to my one o’clock class on time. As I cross one of the many wide lawns on Columbia’s campus, I have the distinct feeling that someone is following me. I pretend to adjust my backpack and subtly glance over my shoulder. No one. 

_ I must really be losing it from lack of sleep _ .

I reach the corner of St. Paul’s, the university chapel, still thinking about those blue eyes and that damn accent. Suddenly, someone grabs me from behind and clamps a hand over my mouth and another over my eyes.  


I don’t even have time to shout. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I’ve had some really lovely feedback on the first chapter, and it made my day :) Say hi on tumblr if you like- I’m prettylightsbigcity over there too.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took ages to write, for some reason, so I'm very happy that it's done!

SIMON

Penny and I found a lovely spot by a lake in the park to sit down and have our coffee. I absolutely annihilated the chicken sandwich. No wonder it’s that beautiful barista’s favorite; it was  _ delicious.  _ I manage to slow down enough to offer Penny half of the scone, even though I’m sure I could finish it off all on my own with no problems. She accepts, and we munch away happily as we watch people strolling along the winding paths leading off in all directions. The coffee is great, too. I’m already planning to stop by the shop again, since it’s such a conveniently short walk from where we’re staying. 

I may or may not want to talk to that barista again as well. Just to see if I still feel so… off balance. It’s not a feeling I’m used to; I used to feel kind of warm when my ex, Agatha, would take my hand or kiss me or whatever, but it was nothing like this. This feels like the ground is tilting, and I’m not sure if I’m going to fall flat on my face at any moment. It’s not that I didn’t think Agatha was attractive; she could have been a model with her symmetrical features and long, dainty limbs. High school relationships are just hard, I guess, and much harder when you spend all your time trying not to get killed by dark creatures and preparing for your supposed destiny of saving the entire magickal world. I probably should have tried to prioritize Agatha more. I was just so damn tired all the time. 

She wasn’t unkind when she ended things; she told me she needed to figure herself out, and that she wanted more than just being “the Chosen One’s girlfriend.” I understood: she deserves more. I honestly felt strangely relieved when it was all said and done. Agatha didn’t finish her final year at Watford either. She picked up and moved to California; she’s actually one of the reasons for our road trip plan. She and Penny have kept in contact, and she offered to show us around San Diego when we make it to the west coast. I’m hoping it won’t be too weird, seeing her again, but Penny assures me that it won’t be. I do like the idea of us being friends. 

All that being said, I don’t have a whole lot of experience with actually trying to understand my own feelings. It was just never high on my list of priorities, you know,  _ before. _ Talking to my therapist has helped a lot, but sometimes it seems like I don’t even have the right words to describe what I’m feeling, like I never even learned the vocabulary I need to have that kind of conversation. It’s frustrating. Still, my mind keeps drifting back to the coffee shop, and the way the barista’s hair was tucked behind his ears. I could never pull off having longer hair like that, but on him, it looked so effortless and perfect. I take a deep breath, trying to examine why my thoughts keep returning to him. 

“Alright there, Simon?” Penny says, interrupting my introspective moment.

“Oh yeah, yeah. This is brilliant, isn’t it Pen? This city. It’s wicked. Thanks for bringing me here,” I say, squeezing her hand. 

“Sure,” Penny says, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she smiles, “but it was a team effort; I would never have come here all by myself!”

I smile & lean back in the grass. Maybe it’s because she’s been my best friend for years now, but Penny always notices when there’s something going on with me, sometimes before I’ve even noticed myself.

“You seem well chuffed,” Penny says, “and you’re smiling a lot. Was the sandwich that good?”

“It was to die for,” I say honestly, then pause as I try to figure out what to say next. 

Penny is still looking at me; she knows I have more to say, and she’s gotten good at waiting for me to untangle my thoughts and spit it out.

“Ah, Penny, have you ever- I mean, do you, or rather, I guess… how do you know that you like, or- ah, that you’re attracted to a guy?”

Penny furrows her brow.

“Well, to be honest, I guess I haven’t thought about it too much, because I always figured I was going to end up with Micah,” she says slowly.

“Shit. Ah, shit, I’m sorry Pen,” I say, tripping over my words as I rush to make up for being so  _ bloody _ insensitive.

“No, no, it’s alright, Simon, really,” she says, tucking her knees in and wrapping her arms around them, “I suppose I just want to find someone who doesn’t make me feel like I need to change, you know?”

“That makes a lot of sense,” I say, sitting up to face her.

“And of course, he’s got to be well fit,” she says, cracking a smile. 

We both giggle, and then it’s quiet for a moment. She’s still looking at me expectantly, but I can’t seem to find any words inside my head at the moment; they’ve all gone somewhere else.

“Are you thinking about giving dating a try?” Penny eventually asks gently.

“Um. Well, I met… someone, I mean, I saw someone, just now when I went into that coffee shop; didn’t really have time to chat, but I kind of can’t stop thinking about it?” I manage.

“Simon!” she squeals, “I leave you alone for one minute! What’s her name? Did you ask for her number? I can’t believe you didn’t tell me right away!”

My face is getting extremely hot, but this is Penny. She’s family. If I can’t trust her, I’m really all alone in the world.

“Ah, no, I didn’t actually get…  _ his _ name,” I start, “but he works at the shop, and I think I’d like to go back tomorrow and see if maybe I could talk- er, chat with him or something?”

For some reason, Penny is tearing up, and I can see her eyes shining a little in the afternoon sunlight. Suddenly I’m wishing the ground would swallow me and my massive, stupid mouth right up. Then Penny hugs me  _ very  _ tightly.

“I love you, Simon Snow,” she says fiercely in my ear, “and you deserve to be happy.”

“Thanks Pen,” I say thickly. 

For some reason, my throat feels quite tight, so I squeeze Penny back and wait for a moment before I’m ready to release her. 

“So when are we going to see your hot barista crush?” she says, grinning like a fool.

“No, no, you’re definitely not coming with me!” I object, and she laughs at my indignant expression. 

“Spoil sport,” she teases, but then relents, “Oh, alright, I’ll wait until you know his name before I insist on being introduced.”

“Very generous of you.”   
  
Penny chuckles, then looks at her watch in surprise.

“Oh, Simon, it’s already 4:40pm! Can you believe? We’ve got to go get checked in!”

BAZ

I’ve slid my wand out of my sleeve and cast  **Stop, Drop, and Roll!** before I even fully register what’s happening. Two guys are rolling around on the grass, protesting loudly:

“What the fuck, man! Ow! Merlin’s beard!”

I think they’re both juniors; I recognize one of them from my Studies in African-American Lit class. I quickly glance around to make sure there are no Normals nearby. We’re fairly sheltered, tucked behind the church, so I don’t think anyone saw. I turn my attention back to my assailants. 

“What do you want?” I ask curtly, keeping my wand pointed towards them.

“We’re with the Sons of Columbia Mage’s Society,” the shorter guy says, managing to get to his knees.

He reaches out to help his friend stop rolling around; the other guy has flaming red hair and he’s breathing hard. 

“Agh. I- I told you we should have brought Dev,” the redhead says angrily.

“Dev?” I ask quickly.

“Yeah, Dev Grimm, your fucking cousin, asshole,” says the redhead.

My nostrils flare. I do  _ not _ have time for family politics bullshit right now. I haven’t even seen anyone from my mother’s side of the family since before she died. 

“Not interested, now fuck off!” I hiss, turning to walk away.

“Hey, wait!” the taller guy says, “I think we got off on the wrong foot. I’m Pritchard- well, my name’s Colin, but everyone calls me Pritchard. This is Niall.”

He holds out his hand and smiles at me, like a big, goofy dog.

I keep my wand pointed right at his chest.    
  
“Not. Interested.”

“Look, this wouldn’t have been so fucking dramatic if you just lived on campus like every other goddamn freshman,” the redhead (Niall, I think?) says nastily.

“Yeah, why do you live all the way out in Bushwick, man?” Pritchard asks, completely ignoring my refusal to shake his hand and the wand I have aimed at him.

“None of your business.”

“But you’re a Pitch; you could like, live wherever you want,” he continues amicably. 

“I want to have some fucking privacy,” I say icily. 

They don’t seem likely to grab me again, so I cautiously lower my wand and slide it back up my sleeve. It’s too public here; Normals are everywhere on this campus. 

“Well, all the rest of the freshman mages have already been initiated,” Niall says matter-of-factly.

“We had to break into the registrar’s office just to get your address!” Pritchard adds cheerfully. 

“When we found out you lived in  _ Bushwick _ we had to figure out a new plan,” says Niall, rolling his eyes at the name of my neighbourhood.

I haven’t given them any indication that I want to engage in a chat, but the two of them keep nattering on, and I can’t get in a word edgewise. 

“Anyway, we usually do the whole cloak and dagger routine and grab the freshman from their dorms on the first Friday of the semester,” Pritchard explains, “but it seemed unreasonable to grab you from your apartment and transport you over an hour on the subway with a bag over your head.”

I raise my eyebrow at him. 

_ Is this guy serious? _

“Sooo, I’m afraid you missed the mysterious, candlelit orientation,” Niall shrugged.

Finally, it clicks. They want me to join the stupid mage association for the school, the Sons of Columbia. 

“Well, sorry to waste your time,” I say sarcastically, “but I’m not joining. Now, I have to get to class, so if you’ll excuse me--”

“Wait!” Niall nearly shouts, grabbing my arm.

“What do you mean, you’re not joining?” asks Pritchard, looking puzzled.

“Every mage who’s a student here is a member of the Society,” Niall continues, “plus, your cousin Dev said you’re wicked at fire spells.”   
  
“I don’t even know my cousin,” I say flatly, “we haven’t spoken since we were children.”

“Huh?” Niall says, looking confused.

“I’m going to class.”   
  
Pritchard holds out a little piece of navy blue cardstock printed with silver lettering.

“Here, man, you could at least come by and check out a meeting,” he says, sounding deflated.

I snatch the card (mostly so they’ll leave me  _ alone _ ), and shove past them both, heading towards the English building. 

_ Shit, I am definitely late for class. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who has been reading. Seeing your comments and kudos fills me with the warm fuzzies :)
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr if you like- @prettylightsbigcity


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one today, but the next one is longer!

SIMON

Penny and I slept in bunk beds at the hostel last night. It was definitely less comfortable than my bed at Watford, but significantly better than some of the care homes I lived in as a kid. Overall, not too bad. Penny disagreed; she hardly got any sleep because she was so anxious about all the strangers we were sharing a space with. When I woke up at eight, she decided to stay in bed. It’s probably for the best, since I’m absolutely buzzing about going back to the coffee shop. I try to take a deep breath.

_ Relax, Simon, he might not even be working today. _

Nevertheless, as I shower and get dressed in the communal bathroom, I can’t help but rush. I  _ could _ see him again today. It’s a possibility. I try to think about what I might say if I do, but my brain is an absolute tangled mess, so I decide I’ll just wing it. It’s kind of what I do. 

As I leave the hostel, I have to take a moment to marvel again at the bustling streets. We’re really in  _ New York City _ \- I can hardly believe it. I sidestep a guy walking a tiny teacup poodle and cross the street, narrowly avoiding a yellow cab that is definitely running a red light. There are lots of people in suits on the sidewalks at this time of day; must be rush hour for them. I cut down a couple blocks to walk alongside Central Park. A busker is singing and playing guitar on the corner, and I toss a handful of American coins in her case, just because I can. 

As I round the corner and see the black and white striped awning, I suddenly feel nervous. I have absolutely no reason to believe that the beautiful barista will be working today, and more importantly, that he’ll even recognize me from yesterday or want to chat. I falter for a moment and consider taking a stroll in the park instead. I could tell Penny that he wasn’t working; nothing I could do about that. We could move on with our trip, and I could forget about his shiny hair and piercing grey eyes. The traffic light changes, and I take a deep breath, then step into the crosswalk and head towards the gold-painted sign for Raven Coffee.

BAZ

It’s been a hell of a morning, and between the woman who insisted I remake her drink three times and the guy who ordered  _ twenty seven _ cappuccinos, I’m already looking forward to the end of my shit so I can get out of here as fast as possible. I didn’t even notice when he walked in, but I see him now: yesterday’s worst customer. He seems to be concentrating very hard, alternating between peering into the glass display case and staring up at the chalkboard menu. Good. Maybe he’ll actually know his order when he gets to the counter this morning. Speaking of which, my coworker Lydia is on cash right now, but I know she’s almost due for a break, and she’ll be dying for a smoke. 

As she finishes a transaction, I step up behind her and say quietly, “Hey, I can take over cash if you want to take your ten.”   


She looks a bit shocked, which isn’t surprising, since I usually make a point not to talk to my coworkers any more than is absolutely necessary, but she accepts.

“Uh, sure, thanks, Baz,” she says gratefully, scurrying off towards the break room. 

I type in my employee ID and help the customer who is waiting (a middle aged business man who simply orders a large, black coffee). I keep my eyes carefully on the screen in front of me, trying not to stare at the guy from yesterday like a crazy person. I find myself smiling a little more than is actually necessary as he steps up to the counter. 

“What can I get for you?” I ask, trying to keep my voice level.

“Hi!” he says brightly, “um, so I came in yesterday-”

_ I know, I’ve been thinking about you ever since. _

“-and I had one of your cranberry scones, which was  _ incredible _ ,” he says, looking blissful, “but, uh, I don’t see any scones today.”

“Oh, yeah, we usually sell out of them early on weekdays,” I say, “I’m sorry…”

“No worries, mate,” he says, smiling cheerfully.

He’s even more stupidly attractive when he smiles.

“Can I try one of those cinnamon buns instead? And a large mocha?” he continues. 

Right. Ordering. I need to ring him up now.

“Yes! I mean, sure, let me just-”

“No rush!,” he says with another easy smile.

“That’s $9.55, please. Would you like whip on your mocha?” I ask, grabbing a cup and trying to recover my professional tone.

“Yes, please,” he replies.

I pass the cup down the bar and bag up his cinnamon roll as he digs money out of his pocket. It’s all going to be over too quickly.

“I’m Simon, by the way,” he says, holding out a $20 bill. 

“Baz,” I respond before I’ve even decided that I’m going to tell him my name.

“Baz,” he says thoughtfully, and I like the way it sounds in his mouth, “it’s nice to meet you.”

“You too. Ah- $10.45 is your change.”   
  
I hold it out to him, but he doesn’t take it.

“Keep the change.”

“It’s more than your order was,” I protest, but he shakes his head.

“That’s ok,” he says with another little smile, “I’m on vacation; I can live a little.”

“Well, thank you,” I say lamely.

He moves away to let the next person in line step up, and I lose track of him for the moment as I ring up an absurdly complicated latte order.

Thankfully, Lydia actually returns from her ten on time (probably because she’s afraid I’ll never offer again), so I can step away from the cash just as Simon’s order is finished. I snag it and take it to the end of the bar.

“Simon?” I call out unnecessarily (he’s standing right there).

“That’s me,” he blurts, as if I don’t already know.

He reaches out for the drink, looking conflicted.

“Ah- Baz? Feel free to tell me off if this is completely inappropriate, but do you think you could- I mean, er, would you like to take a walk in the park after your shift is over? With me, I mean?” he asks, turning bright red all the way to the tips of his ears. 

Before I have a chance to answer, he continues, “Of course, feel free to say no! I just thought you might be able to give me some advice on what I should see while I’m in the city and-”

“Yes. I’m off at 12:30; I can meet you outside,” I say softly, leaning forward so my nosy coworkers won’t overhear. 

His smile is so dazzling and contagious, I almost start smiling like a fool myself.

“Brilliant,” he says happily, “I’ll be here; see you then!”

He practically skips out the door with his cinnamon bun in one hand and his mocha in the other. If he eats that much sugar for breakfast every day, I imagine he probably skips everywhere he goes. The disturbing part is,  _ I think I like it. _ Oh, I am in so much trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH thank you for reading :) It has been so lovely connecting more with this fandom; y'all are the best. Next chapter might take a couple days to edit, but it's coming, I promise ;)


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